


Endlessly Rocking

by me_llamo_nic



Category: BtVS - Fandom, Jossverse
Genre: F/F, canon character death, poem fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-07
Updated: 2010-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-10 23:49:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/me_llamo_nic/pseuds/me_llamo_nic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faith negotiates a temporary leave from prison so she can take care of some unfinished business. She has something to tell Buffy. Xander finds out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Deal with the Devil

**Title**: Endlessly Rocking  
**Chapter 1**: Deal with the Devil  
**Rating**: PG-13?  
**Warnings**: Couple of cuss words, nothing you wouldn’t hear on the show.  
**Summary**: Faith negotiates a temporary leave from prison.

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                Faith walked down the surgically clean hallway, following the suit in front of her. The building was so bright; she had forgotten how bright it was. Was that irony? A building like this and it was all bright and shiny. She had to have at least a little respect for the guy who was leading the way. He had psyched her guard into staying outside the building, shame he couldn’t do anything about the cuffs though.

                Faith could break the cuffs if she needed to. It wasn’t really an issue of being restrained; the things were just so damned uncomfortable. Still, the cuffs probably made all the suits feel a little bit safer, so Faith didn’t complain. The man turned as they reached a set of double doors, wooden and polished.

                The man actually seemed like a bit of a nice guy, though Faith knew better than to expect that in this building. Handsome wasn’t a stretch. He was about a head shorter than Faith, but he definitely knew how to wear that suit and his face had a pleasant angularity to it. It was like he was trying to convince people to trust him, which probably came in handy for his job.

                “Thanks for showin’ me the way-” she hesitated, unsure of the man’s name.

                “Gavin,” he informed her.

                “Gavin,” she noted. “You’re good people.” She had said it without really meaning to, but everyone lied to each other in the name of politeness anyway, so what did it really matter? Gavin opened one of the polished doors and Faith walked through. She felt the door pulling shut behind her as she turned to face the desk and the woman behind it.

                “Hello Faith,” the woman greeted her with a familiar air, gesturing to a chair in front of her desk.

                “Lilah, right?” Faith questioned, unsure if she’d remembered the lawyer’s name correctly.

                “That’s right,” Lilah confirmed. “Why don’t you sit down?” She indicated the chair a second time. Faith grinned inwardly, realizing she was making the bitch nervous.

                “Think you could do something about these cuffs,” Faith asked with just the right amount of impatience in her tone. Lilah’s eyes widened infinitesimally, but Faith noticed it.

                “Maybe later,” Lilah said in what was clearly meant to be a calming, diffusing voice.

                “Look, you know I could break ‘em if I wanted to,” Faith pointed out. “I’m tryin’ to do this by the book.”

                “Then please have a seat,” said Lilah.

                “Fine.” Faith sat in the chair with an angry thump. “They’re wicked uncomfortable is all I’m tryin’ to say.”

                “Faith,” Lilah began, “I’d like to know why you asked for this meeting.”

                “Right to it, huh? Didn’t anyone teach ya how to woo a girl?”

                “Enough games, Faith,” said Lilah, resting her elbows on the table and surveying the Slayer over interlocked fingers.

                “I’m makin’ you nervous with every second,” Faith stated confidently, relishing the sense of power.

                “A little,” Lilah admitted.

                “Honesty’s good, Lilah.” Faith was impressed.

                “But I’m more confident in what I know about you,” Lilah continued boldly. “I don’t think you’ve spent nearly two years in prison to turn around now.”

                “Maybe, maybe not,” replied Faith. “Keep pushin’ my buttons and we’ll find out. Maybe I’ll earn myself a one-way to the electric chair.” Faith grinned in her perfectly arrogant way. “Do ya think a Slayer could survive the chair? I’ve heard they’re not allowed to execute you twice.”

                “What do you want, Faith?” Lilah asked impatiently.

                “I wanna get out,” Faith admitted, finally deciding to play the lawyer’s game. “Nothin’ permanent, just a few days. To take care of some things.”

                “I think I know what this is about,” Lilah said with a smug look on her face.

                “Don’t you visit my intentions,” Faith threatened, voice low and cold. “Don’t ever.”

                “You want out,” Lilah pressed on, hoping to smooth things over. “We can make it happen, but you already knew that.” The lawyer sat back in her chair, meeting the Slayer’s eyes purposefully. “You also know that we won’t give you anything for free, Faith. What are you offering us?”

                “I’m askin’ you,” Faith clarified. “What do you want?” Lilah raised her eyebrows, pleasantly surprised by this turn of events. “Conditions though,” Faith was quick to add.

                “You’re setting conditions? I don’t think you realize who has the power in this situation.”

                “I do,” Faith responded calmly. “Like I said, I’m tryin’ to do this by the book, but I can get it done on my own if I have to.”

                “And you may still have to,” said Lilah bluntly. “What are your conditions?”

                “I don’t wanna cause any deaths,” Faith listed first. “And I don’t wanna hurt anyone I know.”

                “Touching,” Lilah noted, again flashing that smug look that Faith desperately wanted to wipe off her face.

                “I’m askin’ you again, what do you want?” The two invariably strong-willed women stared each other down in silence for a moment. “You need some time to think about it?”

                “Actually no,” Lilah answered. “You have something we could use. And it meets your conditions.”

                “What do you want?” Faith repeated.

                “Your blood.”

                Faith’s mind nearly erupted with emotion. The way Lilah had spoken the words reminded her of another person who had wanted her blood. Something of her feelings had probably entered her face, but Faith corrected it quickly.

                “Not all of it, right?”

                “No, not all of it,” Lilah assured her. She reached into one of her desk drawers and extracted a small glass bottle with a stopper. “Just enough to fill this bottle.”

                “What, you keep blood bottles handy in your desk?”

                “Company policy,” Lilah stated matter-of-factly.

                “And what are you gonna use it for?”

                “It doesn’t contradict your conditions.”

                “What are you gonna use it for?” Faith asked again in a more demanding tone.

                “A spell. We can use your blood to strengthen the protection spells we place on this building. We’ve had some problems with unwanted visitors.”

                “Fang gang keepin’ you on your toes?” Faith asked with a smile.

                “That’s not the point, Faith. No one dies, no one even gets hurt. It’s actually a good spell when you think about it.”

                “Used for evil purposes.”

                “That is what we do here, Faith,” Lilah reminded the Slayer with a smile of her own. “This is a good deal.”

                “So my blood could be useful to you. What’s to stop you from strappin’ me down and takin’ it?”

                “Mystical thing,” Lilah said with a wave of her hand. “We need your consent.”

                “And one more question, how do I know you’re tellin’ the truth?”

                “You have to take my word for it, Faith,” said Lilah with a smirk. “You have to trust me.”

                “Maybe,” Faith returned with a smirk of her own. Then, raising her voice, she called, “Gavin!”

                At the sound of his name, Gavin fell comically through the door that had never been fully closed. Lilah surveyed him with distaste.

                “You don’t seem surprised,” Faith observed. “I’m guessin’ he does this a lot.”

                “It’s a pattern,” Lilah admitted with exasperation.

                “Professional rivalry, huh?” Faith watched as Gavin scrambled to his feet. “You’re alright, Gav.”

                “I assume there’s a reason you called him in here,” Lilah asked, exasperation still heavy in her voice.

                “Gav man,” Faith addressed him. “You guys got any cursed contracts in this building?”

                “Cursed contracts?” Gavin asked with curiosity.

                “Ya know,” Faith nodded toward Lilah as she spoke, “something that makes her hurt if she’s lyin’ to me.”

                “I’ve got just the thing,” Gavin answered with a slightly twisted grin. There was the truth of him, Faith noticed. There was the man behind the handsome face.

                “So go get it,” Faith ordered. Gavin backed out of the room at a brisk pace.

                “This would be easier if you’d just trust me,” Lilah pointed out.

                “Sweetie, I think you forgot who you’re talkin’ to,” said the Slayer. “I’m Faith! I don’t even trust the good guys. So what the hell makes you think I would trust you?”

                “And you trust Gavin?” Lilah questioned. “You think he’s above coming back with just a blank sheet of paper?”

                “I’ve got Gavin worked out,” Faith announced. “I’m actually kinda good at readin’ people. Insightful and all. You’re guarded,” the Slayer continued. “You did me the favor of not visiting my intentions so I’m gonna return that favor.” She grinned inwardly, observing Lilah’s subtle disquiet. “You wanna be guarded, be guarded. Gavin, on the other hand, is an open book. He wouldn’t bring anything that would kill you on account of it would piss off the company. But he doesn’t mind seeing you in pain either. There’s the rivalry, a fair bit of dislike, and just a _little_ bit of confusion ‘cause he’s worried he might like you. If he ever grows the pair, let him down easy, yeah.”

                “You think he likes me and you still expect him to bring something that could hurt me?”

                “You always hurt the one you love,” Faith answered somberly.

                Gavin bustled back into the office about thirty seconds later to find Faith and Lilah in an anything-but-staring contest, looking resolutely at opposite walls of the office. They turned toward his arrival. He crossed to Lilah’s desk and laid out what looked like a half-sheet of paper. Faith got her confirmation of its validity in the suspicious look Lilah gave the seemingly innocent thing.

                “Any specific wording?” Gavin questioned, falling into his element, ready for business.

                “How about,” Faith pondered it for a moment. “I-” she gestured toward Lilah.

                “Lilah Morgan.”

                “I, Lilah Morgan, swear that I have not lied to Faith, nor in any way mislead her about the intended use of her blood.” She watched as Gavin scrawled out the words in black ink. “Think that’ll cover it, Gav?”

                “You’re covered,” he affirmed.

                “I haven’t lied to you, Faith,” Lilah insisted.

                “Then you’ll sign it?”

                “I’ll sign it.”

                “In blood?” Faith asked, spotting the potential loophole. Lilah remained calm however and reached for something at the corner of her desk. It turned out to be a glass inkwell filled with dark red liquid. “Let me guess, company policy?”

                “Company policy,” Gavin and Lilah repeated together. Lilah pulled the paper closer. She signed her name to the bottom of the document and it briefly emitted a faint glow.

                “Gavin, make a copy,” Lilah ordered, passing the contract to her coworker and indicating a copy machine in the corner of the office.

                “I want the original,” Faith told them.

                “And you’ll have it,” Lilah assured the Slayer. “We have to keep records of everything though.” The copy machine began to whir and a single sheet of paper was produced.

                Faith stood as Gavin crossed the room again.

                “Pocket,” she told him, indicating the pants she was wearing. “No coppin’ a feel either or I’ll smash your face into the desk.”

                “I’ve seen her do it,” Lilah responded to Gavin’s questioning look. Gavin folded the paper and carefully put it into the Slayer’s pocket. “Gavin, take the copy down to files and records while Faith and I finish up.” Gavin looked as though he wanted to stay and listen.

                “Hop to it, Gav,” said Faith. He hurried again from the room.

                “I still need your consent,” Lilah reminded her. “I’ve assured you that your blood will be used for only one purpose. The rest is up to you.”

                “Got a contract?” Faith asked.

                “Verbal consent will be fine.”

                “Thought you had to keep a record of everything?”

                “That’s what the camera’s for.” Lilah nodded toward the corner opposite the copy machine.

                “Oh yeah?” Faith turned to face it. “Check it out, I’m on TV.” The Slayer took a bow for the camera, unable to do much else in her handcuffs. She turned back to Lilah with her serious face. “You know you won’t be able to keep ‘em out forever.”

                “Never thought I would,” answered Lilah. “Without more of your blood the spell will deteriorate after a few months. It should keep them out for a while though. I might actually be able to get some work done this summer.”

                “I’d wish you luck with that, but we both know I’d be lyin’ about it.”

                “Do I have your consent?” Lilah pressed.

                “You ever gonna un-bunch those granny panties?” Faith teased. “I think they must be ridin’ high or somethin’, ya know?”

                “Do I have your consent?”

                “There’s one more thing I want.”


	2. Endlessly Rocking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faith comes back to Sunnydale and she has something to tell Buffy.

**Title**: Endlessly Rocking  
**Chapter 2**: Endlessly Rocking  
**Rating**: PG-13?  
**Warnings**: Canon character death. Cussing, no worse than the show. Sort of implied femslash? No actual actions, but a girl character is in love with another girl character. Don’t like, don’t read.  
**Summary**: Faith comes back to Sunnydale and she has something to tell Buffy.  
**A/N**: To those who liked the first part, be warned that this one will not be light and humorous. I’d probably go so far as to call this chapter downright angst-y. The next (last) chapter will also have a serious tone, but will hopefully come across as more touching and less angst-ridden. Hope you like it. *grins nervously*

  
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                Faith got off the bus and looked around, breathing deeply. She almost immediately regretted this, having forgotten that the Sunnydale Bus Depot smelled only slightly better than a homeless man’s underpants. Coughing, she set off towards her destination and some fresher air.

                The Slayer walked purposefully through the streets of Sunnydale, sticking to the familiar back alleys whenever possible. It was nearly midnight, prime time for all the things that went bump in the night. Faith could handle any of the demons, but she still hoped she didn’t meet any of them. Even more than that, she hoped she wouldn’t be spotted by a Scooby. If she ran into one, she’d probably end up having to hog-tie all of them before she could do what she came to do.

                However, for once in her life, luck favored the troubled Slayer. She reached the clearing without any trouble from demons or humans. The place looked like a painting. Grass, flowers, and trees all seemed to thrive and were so full of life. In the middle of it all – a headstone. Faith approached on unsteady legs, feeling she might break down at any moment. Her chest began to tremble and it felt like her heart was tightening. She looked down to the words engraved at the bottom of the stone.

                She saved the world. A lot.

                And the first tear dropped, sliding down the Slayer’s cheek toward the source of her pain.

                “Hey, B.” Faith’s voice shook like the rest of her as she spoke to the air. “I don’t know if you can hear me,” she began, “but I think you can. I think you’re in heaven.” The second tear, on the opposite cheek, racing its twin. “I think you’re in heaven right now, getting all the happiness you deserve. You’ve earned it, B.” She breathed deeply through her nose, hating the sniffling sound it made. “Somehow, I don’t think we’re gonna see each other again.” She smirked half-heartedly.

                “But I came here,” she explained. “I came as close to you as I can get, B. I figure if you can’t hear me here, you probably won’t hear me anywhere, but I’ve gotta try.” Two more tears fell as she blinked in an attempt to regain her composure. “I wanted to say-” the lump in her throat was so painful. “Oh God.” She raised her head and tried to blink back further tears. “I wanted to say goodbye to you, Buffy.” She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, suddenly annoyed by the sounds her leather jacket made. “You probably don’t even know it, but – I’m gonna miss you.”

                She ripped off the jacket and let it fall to the ground, feeling the night breeze wrap around her in its place.

                “It probably sounds corny, but – you’re my hero, Buffy.” She laid a hand gently on top of the cold stone. “A-and,” Faith stumbled over the words. “You threatened to kill me if I said this,” she tried again, “but I’m hopin’ I’m safe now. I want you to know I’m sorry.” The tears returned in force, as if they were determined to make up for lost time, angry at having been denied. Faith stood there for a while, sobbing and quivering, praying for the strength to go on. There was still more she needed to say.

                “I don’t think you ever knew,” she pressed on, ignoring the stinging pain of the wind in her teary eyes. “Maybe you guessed. O-or suspected it. I wish I’d had the strength to tell you.” The tears flowed endlessly, an indomitable foe that the terrified Slayer could not defeat.

She pulled her hand back from the grave and reached into the left pocket of her black jeans. With shaking hands, she unfolded the packet of paper. There were four sheets, held together by a staple. Faith turned to the third page. She raised her eye to Buffy’s grave for a moment and then returned her gaze to the paper. She had drawn a star next to the line from which she wanted to start. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the grave and the page.

                “God, you’re dead and I’m still afraid to tell you.” Buried in Faith’s words was a quiet plea for emotional strength, the kind that was so unfamiliar to the frightened Slayer. “I-I brought a poem,” she said. “I didn’t write it or anything – but it’s how I feel.”

                She cleared her throat and steeled her will before reading aloud.

                “_Soothe! Soothe! Soothe!  
                Close on its wave soothes the wave behind,  
                And again another behind embracing and lapping, every one close,  
                But my l-love_” – Faith stumbled over the word – _“soothes not me, not me._”

                Her words were both an admission and a plea.

                “_Low hangs the moon, it rose late,  
                It is lagging––O I think it is heavy with love, with love._”

                She spoke forcefully, projecting all the way, she hoped, to the heavens above.

                “_O madly the sea pushes upon the land,  
                With love, with love._”

                She couldn’t live with the feelings she’d kept bottled anymore. She released them to the night and to the one who was both under her feet and over her head. And in her heart.

                “_O night! do I not see my love fluttering out among the breakers?  
                What is that little black thing I see there in the white?_”

                Faith did not imagine that she could see Buffy in the shadows, but she could feel her. Stronger than a knife to the gut had ever been, she could feel Buffy now.

                “_Loud! loud! loud!  
                Loud I call to you, my love!  
                High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves,  
                Surely you must know who is here, is here,  
                You must know who I am, my love._

_                Low-hanging moon!  
                What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow?  
                O it is the shape, the shape of my mate!  
                O moon do not keep her from me any longer._”

                Faith allowed a few quiet sobs to work through her frame before she continued.

                “_Land! land! O land!  
                Whichever way I turn, O I think you could give me my mate back again if you only would,  
                For I am almost sure I see her dimly whichever way I look._”

                Faith wanted to kick the ground, to punish it for swallowing up all the chances that never were, but she would not disturb the only testament to the life that was no more.

                “_O rising stars!  
                Perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will rise with some of you._

_                O throat! O trembling throat!  
                Sound clearer through the atmosphere!  
                Pierce the woods, the earth,  
                Somewhere listening to catch you must be the one I want._

_                Shake out carols!  
                Solitary here, the night’s carols!  
                Carols of lonesome love! death's carols!  
                Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon!  
                O under that moon where she droops almost down into the sea!  
                O reckless despairing carols._”

                The crying Slayer dropped to her knees, her free hand moving to the top of the headstone.

                “_But soft! sink low!  
                Soft! let me just murmur,  
                And do you wait a moment you husky-nois’d sea,  
                For somewhere I believe I heard my mate responding to me,  
                So faint, I must be still, be still to listen,  
                But not altogether still, for then she might not come immediately to me._”

                Her hand caressed the cold and lifeless stone as lovingly as if it were the face that shone so clearly in her mind.

                “_Hither my love!  
                Here I am! Here!  
                With this just-sustain’d note I announce myself to you,  
                This gentle call is for you my love, for you._”

                It had always been for Buffy. The best and the worst of her had always been for Buffy.

                “_Do not be decoy’d elsewhere,  
                That is the whistle of the wind, it is not my voice,  
                That is the fluttering, the fluttering of the spray,  
                Those are the shadows of leaves._”

                Faith paused, sniffling and sobbing, recollecting what little strength she had.

                “_O darkness! O in vain!  
                O I am very sick and sorrowful._

_                O brown halo in the sky near the moon, drooping upon the sea!  
                O troubled reflection in the sea!  
                O throat! O throbbing heart!  
                And I singing uselessly, uselessly all the night._”

                Faith found herself coughing, nearly unable to breathe as she embraced the waves of pain.

                “_O past! O happy life! O songs of joy!  
                In the air, in the woods, over fields,  
                Loved! loved! loved! loved! loved!  
                But my mate no more, no more with me!  
                We two together no more._”

                The weary woman rested her head against the stone, arm draped over the top. She cried and cried, but the tears continued, never running out. Her entire body heaved with the force of her sobs and then they pushed just a little bit harder. Broken heart and broken soul, she wept against the stone, feeling nothing like the Slayer and everything like a frightened, crying girl.

                “I’m so sorry, Buffy-y-y.” The word was prolonged by her continued sobs. “I’m sorry I was never honest with you. I was so afraid to let you in. So scared of how strongly I felt for you.” She let the paper in her hand fall to the ground, now tracing the letter ‘B’ with her index finger. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I still need you to know how sorry I am. I’m sorry for my mistakes and I’m sorry that I pushed you away. I was scared and I’m sorry.

                “I’m sorry that I messed everything up. I’m sorry that I was never the friend you deserved. I’m sorry that I couldn’t measure to up to being a Slayer.” Her throat tightened again. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve been at your side. Maybe you wouldn’t have-” Faith coughed hard in an attempt to clear her throat. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be a hero. I’m sorry I was never the Slayer you deserved.” Her breathing was finally beginning to level out.

                “I wanted you to know.” Her voice was scratchy and tired, tearing at her throat. “You’re my hero.” Her finger was still tracing the ‘B,’ slowing with her ever-increasing exhaustion. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes were heavy like her heart. “I love you, Buffy Summers.” Sleep took her. Her left hand dropped from the engraved name, landing on the poem as sleep began to numb her pain.

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The remaining lines of Walt Whitman’s “Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking.”

\---

The aria sinking,  
All else continuing, the stars shining,  
The winds blowing, the notes of the bird continuous echoing,  
With angry moans the fierce old mother incessantly moaning,  
On the sands of Paumanok’s* shore gray and rustling,  
The yellow half-moon enlarged, sagging down, drooping, the face of the sea almost touching,  
The boy ecstatic, with bare feet the waves, with his hair the atmosphere dallying,  
The love in the heart long pent, now loose, now at last tumultuously bursting,  
The aria’s meaning, the ears, the soul, swiftly depositing,  
The strange tears down the cheeks coursing,  
The colloquy there, the trio, each uttering,  
The undertone, the savage old mother incessantly crying.  
To the boy’s soul’s questions sullenly timing, some drown’d secret hissing.  
To the outsetting bard.

Demon or bird! (said the boy’s soul,)  
Is it indeed toward your mate you sing? or is it really to me?  
For I, that was a child, my tongue’s use sleeping, now I have heard you,  
Now in a moment I know what I am for, I awake,  
And already a thousand singers, a thousand songs, clearer, louder, and more sorrowful than yours,  
A thousand warbling echoes have started to life within me, never to die.

O you singer solitary, singing by yourself, projecting me,  
O solitary me listening, never more shall I cease perpetuating you,  
Never more shall I escape, never more the reverberations,  
Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from me,  
Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was before what there in the night,  
By the sea under the yellow and sagging moon,  
The messenger there arous’d, the fire, the sweet hell within,  
The unknown want, the destiny of me.

O give me the clew!** (it lurks in the night here somewhere,)  
O if I am to have so much, let me have more!  
A word then, (for I will conquer it,)  
The word final, superior to all,  
Subtle, sent up––what is it?––I listen:  
Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you sea-waves?  
Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands?

Whereto answering, the sea,  
Delaying not, hurrying not,  
Whisper’d me through the night, and very plainly before daybreak,  
Lisp’d to me the low and delicious word death,  
And again, death, death, death, death,  
Hissing melodious, neither like the bird nor like my arous’d child’s heart,  
But edging near as privately for me rustling at my feet,  
Creeping thence steadily up to my ears and laving me softly all over,  
Death, death, death, death, death.

Which I do not forget,  
But fuse the song of my dusky demon and brother,  
That he sang to me in the moonlight on Paumanok’s gray beach,  
With the thousand responsive songs at random,  
My own songs awakened from that hour,  
And with them the key, the word up from the waves,  
The word of the sweetest song and all songs,  
That strong and delicious word, which creeping to my feet,  
(Or like some old crone rocking the cradle, swathed in sweet garments, bending aside,)  
The sea whisper’d me.

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*Paumanok – Native American name for Long Island, New York.

**Clew – Clue. (Whitman’s spelling.)


	3. Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander pays an early morning visit to Buffy's grave.

**Title**: Endlessly Rocking  
**Chapter 3**: Forgiveness  
**Rating**: PG-13?  
**Warnings**: Cussing, mostly garden-variety, one F-bomb. Sort of implied femslash? Same as chapter 2.  
**Summary**: Xander pays an early morning visit to Buffy’s grave.

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                “Keeping Angel Investigations out of the building is quite a coup for you,” Gavin said to Lilah one morning as they were walking into the office. “I’ve heard the higher-ups are very pleased with your work. But there is one thing I’d like to know.” He stepped in front of the briskly walking Lilah.

                “Gavin, I’ve got an early meeting, make this quick.” Lilah’s frustration was evident.

                “Why did you give the Slayer such a good deal?” Gavin asked.

                Lilah looked to her left and right, checking that no one was eavesdropping.

                “I pitied her,” she answered with a distant look in her eyes.

                Gavin was confounded.

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                Xander had awoken early in the morning; he hadn’t exactly been sleeping well since Buffy’s death. There were nights he would wake up, drenched in a cold sweat, having seen Buffy’s lifeless body lying at the foot of that tower. As if she could sense his distress, Anya would always wake up within moments of her lover. She would hold him close and simply repeat how much she loved him. If he ever needed to cry, she would tell him that it was alright. She would affirm that it was good for men to cry and remind him that she still found him very manly. It would make him smile, even in spite of his grief. Thank God he’d always have Anya.

                Except of course for this morning. Anya had gone in early to work at the Magic Box. It seemed that Anya’s coping mechanism was to lose herself in her work. Xander couldn’t really fault her though; everyone had to cope somehow. Nonetheless, it did leave Xander on his own this morning.

                He made his way through Sunnydale’s streets. The town didn’t look half bad at this time of day. Early morning light permeated the scene. The demons were all in their crypts, tucking in their hell-spawn. The people hadn’t yet come out in force to go about their day. Sunnydale wasn’t so bad when it was quiet. It also meant that there was no one to ask him why he was walking down the street with a dozen white roses.

                Xander could have driven, it was true, but the physical aspect of walking felt like a good stress reliever. Stress had always been high in supply on the Hellmouth, but Xander had never known it to be quite this bad. Somehow his mind wasn’t able to grasp the notion of Buffy being dead. He had felt like no matter what changed in the world, there would always be taxes and Buffy. And now Buffy was gone. Of course Willow…

                Xander’s thoughts were interrupted as he reached his destination. It was immediately obvious that something was wrong with the picture before his eyes. There was a woman lying down at Buffy’s grave, head against the stone, one hand draped over the top. He couldn’t help but think that she was nice looking, in an I-very-much-love-the-woman-I’m-engaged-to sort of way. Mentally scolding himself, he moved forward to see if she was alright. This being Sunnydale, he worried that he might find puncture wounds and a message for the friends of the Slayer. After all, who would leave a body at this specific grave when it was so far out of the way?

                He had started to run toward the woman, but stopped again when he got close enough to recognize her. Faith had come back to Sunnydale. And for some reason she had collapsed at Buffy’s grave. He gulped once, standing there trying to decide what to do. It looked like she was breathing, so no vamps had made a meal of her, but he couldn’t decide whether or not to feel relieved about that. As the moments of indecision passed him by, his mind began to clear. Was it so impossible that Faith had come to say goodbye to Buffy? There was still the matter of when and how she got out of prison, but right now she looked mostly harmless. Exhausted even.

                Xander noticed some paper under Faith’s hand and suddenly found that his feet were carrying him forward.

                ‘I am not a cat,’ Xander chanted in his mind. ‘I am not a cat. Curiosity won’t kill me. I am not a cat. I am not a cat.’ He stooped down and gently shifted the paper from under Faith’s hands. One glance at the line structure told him what it was. ‘Poems,’ he thought to himself, ‘always a sign of pretentious inner turmoil. Hey, that’s pretty good. I might have to use that later in front of people.’ He noticed a small star had been drawn on the page and he quietly read the words that followed it. As he read, some things started to make sense, but others got considerably more confusing.

                He looked again at the sleeping Slayer and was mildly surprised by feelings of pity. It wasn’t hard for him to imagine how lost and alone she must have been feeling. Xander had Anya; Faith didn’t have anyone. A part of him wanted to lean down and give the girl a great big hug, but somehow he didn’t think waking up a tetchy, emotional, occasionally murderous Slayer by giving her a surprise hug would be the best idea.

                “Faith,” he spoke softly, not really wanting to shock her in any way. There was a good chance she’d start swinging if she felt threatened. As it was, she kept sleeping. “Faith.” He tried again, slightly louder.

                “Mm.” Faith gazed, bleary-eyed at her surroundings. She remembered where she was, but it was a moment before she remembered that someone else being there was a very bad thing. It took her yet another second to recognize the man standing next to her.

                “Don’t hurt me!” Faith cried, scrambling quickly backwards with the most innocently terrified look in her eyes.

                “I’m gonna put that one down to bein’ sleepy,” said Xander with a grin. “You Slayer,” he reminded her, “me big doofus.”

                “I – yeah, sorry.” She straightened up into a standing position. “Ahh damn,” she groaned, rolling her head from side to side in an attempt to sort out her stiff neck. “Did I fall asleep?”

                “Looks that way,” Xander answered.

                “Well, the sun’s up,” Faith noted.

                “Yeah? How long have you been here?”

                “I think it was around midnight.” Faith ran both hands through her hair. “I sort of got wore out, I guess. I said some stuff, ya know.”

                “Read a poem.”

                “Wha-” Faith suddenly noticed what Xander was holding. “Oh God, you didn’t read that?”

                “Uh – well – uh,” Xander babbled. “Actually, I never learned how to read,” he tried, accompanied by a nervous grin.

                “That – that’s fucking _private_!” Faith screamed.

                “Hey, I’m not gonna tell anyone,” Xander assured her calmly. He held up both hands in what he hoped and assumed was a universally recognized sign of surrender, while still trying to hold the poem and the flowers.

                “You’re damn right your not gonna tell anyone!” It was truly bizarre to see Faith trying to restrain herself; Xander had definitely never seen that before. For all the shouting and anger, it was plain that she was holding herself back. The old Faith would have knocked Xander out or started strangling him by now. Her breath came in strangled, angry pants.

                “I’m sorry, okay,” said Xander, hoping he was saying the right thing. “I saw the paper and I got curious. I shouldn’t have done that.” ‘Oh God, I am a cat.’ His hands were still held out, occasionally moving in an attempt to gesture his penance. Faith’s face still reflected an unnerving mixture of fear and anger.

                She turned to face away from Xander, shoulders visibly trembling. He waited quietly, hoping against hope that this meant she was trying to calm herself down. He nearly jumped out of his skin as Faith let out a strangled shrieking sound, sending some birds flying out of their trees. After a tense pause, she slowly turned to face him again.

                “You weren’t supposed to know,” she said in a small, defeated voice. “None of you. I-it was only for her.”

                “Faith, it’s okay,” Xander told her sincerely. He didn’t know what made him do it, but suddenly he was taking a step forward. Faith’s eyes flashed immediately to his leg. They both stared at each other for a moment. “Like I said, I’m not gonna tell anyone. If you wanna take your poem and go, then it’s up to you.” They met each other’s eyes.

                “Can I stay?” It sounded almost like a cry for help.

                “Yeah,” Xander replied simply.

                “I shoulda thought of flowers,” she commented, nodding toward Xander’s hand.

                “I’m sure she’d have liked what you did bring.” Xander offered an encouraging smile.

                “Past tense?” Faith questioned, seating herself on the ground where she had been standing.

                “Well,” Xander took another step closer, “I mean she is…” he hesitated.

                “You can say dead,” Faith informed him. “I’m pretty sure I’m done freakin’ out.”

                “I’m not gonna lie, that’s definitely a relief.” Xander had a seat next to the Slayer.

                “So, X-man-”

                “Faith, my promises mean nothing if you start calling me X-man,” he interrupted. “It’s Xander. Although I might consider Sergeant Fury.”

                “Xander,” Faith began again, trying and failing to smile at his joke. “You think she’s not looking down on us?”

                “What, like heaven?” Xander asked. “I don’t know if I really believe in that sort of stuff.”

                “I’m not really sure either,” Faith admitted. “But I think Buffy’s in heaven. I feel like she is, ya know what I mean?”

                “Not really,” responded Xander.

                “Man. Wouldn’t have guessed that.” Faith shook her head slowly. “Out of the two of us you’d kind of expect that you’d be the one who believes in heaven.”

                “I don’t know what I believe,” said Xander frankly. “I generally just stick with what’s happening in the here and now.”

                “So what, you’re openin’ up to me now?”

                “I guess I am. You opened up to me.”

                “Not by choice,” Faith asserted.

                “D’you mind if I ask you a question about…” he waved the poem.

                “I…” Faith paused and swallowed once. “I guess not,” she decided. “I can always just punch you if you offend me.”

                “We’re talkin’ playful punch on the shoulder, right?” Xander asked nervously.

                “Depends how much you offend me?” Faith replied with a shrug and a smirk.

                “Can I ask a favor? If you’re gonna kill me after this conversation could ya promise to make it quick?”

                Faith’s slowly remounting confidence vanished in an instant. Xander saw two deep pools of pain where the Slayer’s eyes should be. He knew immediately that he’d put his foot in his mouth, yet again.

                “God, Xander,” Faith turned her head to the left and stared at the grass. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Her instinct was not to admit to her feelings. Her instinct was to respond with anger, but she curbed the impulse. “I mean – intimidation’s just sort of how I talk to people.” She turned to face him again and placed a hand on his shoulder, relieved that he didn’t flinch. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Okay?”

                “Okay.”

                “I hate it, ya know.” There was that defeated tone again. “I hate that people are scared of me.” She pulled her hand back and let it rest on the grass. “And I know I just said I try to intimidate people and that doesn’t really make sense, but it is what it is.”

                “I get that,” Xander told her.

                “Yeah?” Her eyes swept over him as if she were sizing him up, looking for something new. “Maybe you do,” she reasoned. “So you had a question?”

                “Yeah.” Xander took a breath. “This poem,” he waved it a second time, “talks about ‘my mate, my mate’ and stuff. Did you guys-”

                “No,” Faith answered before he could get the question out. “We never – anything. I-I ruined that before it could ever get started.” Xander heard multiple levels of remorse in her words.

                “And do you think it would have?”

                “I don’t know,” said Faith, even frustration barely making a difference in the way she spoke. “Maybe.” Her gaze fell again to the grass. “I know what I felt. I can’t answer for her.” There was a brief, awkward silence. “D’you remember Scott Hope?”

                “Sure, he and Buffy dated for a few weeks in senior year. He’s the one who started spreading rumors that – oh.”

                “No, not like that,” Faith corrected the impression that Xander was forming. “I mean, yeah, he did start sayin’ that, but I was more interested in his original story.” Xander looked back at her blankly. “His original story,” Faith continued, “was that she was distracted. I didn’t really buy it at the time; I thought he was just makin’ some lame excuse. I just cracked some jokes about the ringworm and let it go. But remember what we found out a few weeks later?”

                “Angel,” said Xander shortly.

                “Angel,” Faith repeated. “Buffy might’ve had some kinda chance with Scott, but she could never see straight when Angel was around.”

                “And you think she might’ve noticed you if she could see straight?”

                “Maybe.” Faith shrugged. “But like I said, I messed it all up before Angel left the picture.”

                “I’m sorry you never got the chance,” Xander told her honestly.

                “Hopin’ to sell the tapes?” Faith teased.

                “Oh no, those are definitely in the Xander keepsake collection,” he vowed, straight-faced.

                “Yeah, guess so.” Faith actually managed to grin in response to the joke and found that it hurt the muscles in her face. The corners of her mouth pulled down again.

                “You know,” Xander mused, “we’re actually pretty similar.”

                “What, because you had a crush on B?”

                “No. Well, yeah I had a crush on her once, but that’s not what I meant.”

                “How’re we similar then?” asked the Slayer.

                “Well, you hide behind intimidation and toughness. I hide it by making jokes about everything. But we’re both…”

                “What?” she responded. “What are we? What do you think we’re hiding?”

                “The fact that we’re both scared, insecure, little children,” Xander finished dryly.

                “Y’know any other day I’d kick your ass for sayin’ that,” Faith informed him.

                “That’s why I’m saying it today.” They sat in silence for a few quiet moments. The sun was rising properly now and the wind that had started up last night was dying down. “It’s strange,” Xander announced after a while. “I’ve seen you without your clothes on,” he smirked at the thought, “but I never really thought I’d see you naked.”

                “Is that from something?” Faith asked.

                “I don’t think so,” Xander replied, a look of confusion crossing his face. “Maybe. It is a bit better than my usual material, isn’t it?”

                “I’m sorry, y’know,” Faith said suddenly.

                “Huh?” Xander had lost the thread of the conversation.

                “I didn’t get to say sorry to B ‘til she was dead,” Faith explained. “I’m sorry for the stuff I did to you guys. Stuff I did to you…” she trailed off awkwardly. “Anyway, I’m sorry. I mean it’s what I do. It’s how I deal, ya know. But I’m sorry I did it to you.”

                “Well, it’s not like it wasn’t a good time.” Xander flashed a cheesy grin.

                “You’re doin’ the jokin’ thing.”

                “Yeah, I am,” said Xander pointedly.

                “Oh – yeah – I… Well, like I said, I’m sorry.” Faith brought her legs up close to her torso, wrapping her arms around them. “You may have noticed I wasn’t really in the best place then. Hell, I’m not really in a good place right now.”

                “It’s understandable,” he assured her. “We’re all a little lost right now.”

                “I… I don’t really know how to get comfortable – with this – vulnerability.” She hoped it was the right word, it felt applicable enough. “I mean, I kinda like bein’ able to talk to someone, but it’s weird how much you’ve got me figured out.”

                “Still don’t have everything figured out,” Xander pledged. “Wouldn’t have guessed you were into poetry.”

                “I swear I only know a couple. You shoulda seen the lawyer’s face when I asked for it.”

                They both looked down at the ground.

                “Y’know, I’m not exactly comfortable with the serious stuff either,” Xander admitted. “You seem to think I don’t get how you feel.”

                “Did you miss the part where I just said you did?”

                “Yeah, but you think I don’t understand. You think I’m just reading you, but I’m not. I get you because if one or two things had been different, I would be you.” He paused and thought it over. “Okay so maybe more than one or two things. I’m not a Slayer. But I do get it, Faith. I understand where you’re at and where you’ve been.”

                “You – you think you understand?” Faith felt her anger impulse rising again and tried to hold it back. “What exactly do you think you understand? You don’t have a clue.”

                “Faith, I’ve been there.” Xander felt his throat tighten as he spoke the words. “Look at me,” he requested. Faith turned her angry eyes toward his. “I’ve. Been. There.”

                “Wha-” Faith felt disarmed by what Xander was trying to tell her. “Oh damn,” she commented. “And here I am, thinkin’ I can read people. How did I miss that?”

                “I play good defense,” said Xander.

                “I’ll say,” replied Faith. “I’m thinkin’ you could give me tips.”

                “Trust me; we’d just drag each other down.”

                “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Faith admitted bitterly.

                “I will give you one tip though. Let someone in,” he stated boldly. “It doesn’t have to be the world. It can just be one person, but you gotta have someone.”

                “I’ll try to keep it that in mind.” Faith ran her hands through her hair again as she sighed. Xander seemed slightly paler when she next looked at his face.

                “You probably won’t like me bringing this up,” he said slowly, “but did they have psychiatrists in prison?”

                “I – yeah,” Faith answered. “Yeah, I think they had a special on. Book a cell, get a free shrink and a toaster oven.”

                “I could use a toaster oven,” Xander joked in an attempt to relieve the tension. “And the bank makes you go to so much trouble. How much crime do you think I’d have to do get the toaster oven offer?”

                “Guess I started that,” Faith mumbled.

                “Maybe I could just try to steal a toaster oven. Then even if I got caught I’d be covered.”

                “You don’t have to do the joke thing,” said Faith. “Yeah, they offered to let me see a shrink. Hell, they made me for a little while. Didn’t really accomplish anything though. Not that I was helpful.”

                “Maybe you should think about trying again,” he suggested.

                “You sayin’ you think I’m crazy?”

                “No, I’m really not,” Xander assured her. “I’m saying that someone to talk to is better than no one. Bottling up your feelings only works for so long before you run out of room. This is probably gonna come out wrong, but – I’m worried about you.”

                “Would it be weird if I said – I’m glad?”

                “Not weird at all,” answered Xander.

                “There hasn’t really been a lotta people that care about me. Not personally anyway.”

                “Can I ask you another question?”

                “You seem to be full of ‘em,” responded Faith.

                “When I woke you up,” he prompted nervously, “what you said…”

                “I dream about you guys,” said Faith. “At first it was just B, but it’s all of you now.”

                “And we hurt you?” Xander asked in a state of perplexity. “Even me?”

                “You use that drug,” Faith confessed. “The one Giles used on B.”

                “Sorry.”

                “It was a dream. You’re not responsible for dream-Xander.”

                “Well, I’m still sorry that you have to go through that on top of everything else. I know it must be hard for you.” He paused, apparently deciding whether or not to pursue his next thought. “Faith, when I first got here, I was worried that you might be dead,” Xander stated bluntly.

                “What?” Faith was unsure of where Xander was going with this. “You thought I killed myself or somethin’?”

                “Well, actually I didn’t recognize you at first,” Xander confessed. “I thought maybe you were a message for the Slayer’s friends.”

                “Hey, if anyone messes with this grave, you come tell me.”

                “After I recognized you,” Xander pressed on, not addressing Faith’s remark, “I did think that maybe… Maybe out of guilt or something… I was glad that you were breathing.”

                “I wouldn’t do that,” said Faith reassuringly.

                “Faith, I really hate to bring this up,” the truth of his words was evident in his nervous tone, “but I can’t just not bring it up. Oh boy,” he sighed. “You seem to – well you do – you have a – um – a cut on your wrist.”

                “Oh!” Faith exclaimed in realization. “Oh, no, you got the wrong impression.” She looked down at the fresh wound. “That was the lawyer.”

                “The what?”

                “Lawyer,” Faith repeated. “I had to do a deal so I could come here.”

                “The lawyer wanted your blood?” Xander asked in disbelief.

                “Apparently Slayer blood can strengthen protection spells,” Faith replied.

                “The lawyer does _spells_?”

                “Can’t get somethin’ for nothin’,” Faith explained. “Look, I didn’t cut my wrist though. I’m in a bad place, yeah, but I’m not there.”

                “I’m not sure if I’m relieved.” Xander paused and rethought. “I mean I’m relieved that you’re not cutting yourself,” he clarified. “But lawyers that draw blood for their magic doesn’t exactly sound like a good thing.”

                “Not your problem,” said Faith. “Besides, Angel keeps a close eye on ‘em anyway.”

                “Angel,” Xander scoffed, “yeah, that makes me feel safer.”

                “We don’t really need to talk about him,” Faith interceded, foreseeing the argument that might arise. “You doin’ alright?”

                “Not really,” Xander answered shortly.

                “Right, stupid question, my fault. Maybe I should go,” she decided.

                “You don’t have to,” Xander told her as she stood.

                “I’m thinkin’ this might not be the best place for my grand plan to lay low and avoid the Scooby Gang. My bus leaves at 11:30 tonight. You guys won’t see me again.”

                “When I woke up this morning it would’ve sounded weird, but I hope that’s not true.” Xander got to his feet as well. “If Angel and Spike can fight the good fight, then there’s definitely room for you.”

                “Maybe I’ll do a sweep tonight before my bus comes,” Faith suggested. “I definitely got some ventin’ to do. Maybe I’ll remind the demons that this town ain’t theirs yet.”

                “We’d definitely appreciate it. As far as we know, none of the underground people know about Buffy yet. We’re doing everything we can to keep it that way. We keep up the patrols as much as we can.”

                “You won’t tell them you saw me, right?” Faith questioned.

                “Only if they torture me,” Xander assured her. “And they don’t really have a reason to torture me. Well, Anya might, but that would be for a completely different reason.”

                “I’m not sure if that was a joke or not,” Faith commented, raising an eyebrow.

                “And you never will be,” said Xander with a smile.

                “Probably don’t wanna know anyway.” Faith returned the smile and found that it hurt a bit less this time. “I wanna – thanks,” she said quietly. “Thanks for talkin’ to me. A-and thanks for carin’ about me.”

                “You’re worth it, Faith,” he vowed, meeting her eyes. “You deserve to be cared about. Don’t ever let anyone tell you anything different.”

                “I’m probably gonna start cryin’ if this keeps up,” Faith informed him. “I’m kinda ready to be done with that for a little while.”

                “Right.” Xander paused. “Would ‘good luck’ be appropriate? What d’you say to someone who’s headed back to prison?”

                “Good luck’s fine,” answered Faith. She turned her back to Xander and approached Buffy’s grave a second time. Hoping Xander wouldn’t notice, Faith kissed her hand and gently touched it to the top of the headstone. “I love you, B.” And then she set off to leave the clearing.

                “Oh, and Faith,” Xander called out to her.

                “Yeah?” Faith turned toward Xander’s approach.

                “I just wanted to say…” he began awkwardly. “I’m sorry that Buffy never had a chance to forgive you. Maybe she never would have, who knows. But if it’s worth anything – I forgive you, Faith.”

                “It’s a worth a lot,” replied Faith, suddenly fighting tears. “Thanks again…Sergeant Fury.” She tipped him a casual salute before setting off at a jog.

                It was a moment before Xander realized that he was still holding Faith’s poem. He turned to the grave and laid it there along with the dozen white roses he had brought. As he walked away, he reflected on the strange fact that this was actually turning out to be a good day. Between the conversation with Faith, his happiness about his engagement to Anya, and what Willow was planning, he was actually feeling pretty good about his life. As he walked, he got the feeling that maybe, just this once, things might work out for the best.

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**Fun Fact:** Every time you read a fic without reviewing it, a kitten dies. Just thought I’d throw that out there.


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